


PSYCHO

by iggycakes



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: M/M, Power Dynamics, blowjob/handjob, dark and horny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:21:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26619616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iggycakes/pseuds/iggycakes
Summary: Emet-Selch goes to see a play put on by the Majestic Imperial Theatre Company, starring a cocky white-haired miqo'te. They have some fun after the show.
Relationships: Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/Original Character(s), Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/Warrior of Light
Comments: 1
Kudos: 23





	PSYCHO

**Author's Note:**

> A commission for the wonderful @/ASTRID_DELMER on twitter <3  
> Also yes, this is titled after Red Velvet's Psycho.

The lights were dim, basking the whole set in an eerie red glow.The audience filed in as they usually did, in semi-organized fashion, bending and hollering quietly over each other looking for their assigned seats. Dressed to the nines, nursing fragile glasses of wine between their fingers, the people settled down as the minutes passed. They spoke in dark whispers about tonight’s show, of the rumors they heard floating the city’s streets. 

When the curtains finally rose and a spotlight illuminated the center of the stage, it took every ounce of self-control not to end everything right then and there. The seats weren’t filed. A pity. An absolute embarrassment. Emet-Selch seethed.

He watched from his perch, a private seat that perfectly overlooked the stage. A servant bashfully interrupted his thoughts for just a moment to offer him some wine. Made with the finest grapes, they said. Matured to his tastes. Yes, yes, whatever. He hand-waved the attendant away.

“No, leave the bottle.”

Even he thought he sounded angrier than usual. What was it about being here that frustrated him so? Was it the outlandish decor? The pitiful impression these pretend-nobles had of their own self-worth? He glanced down at the meagre crowd below him. They thought so highly of themselves and their privilege. They had no idea just how much they didn’t have, how much they were missing with every wasteful breath they took.

As soon as the servant disappeared behind the curtain, Emet-Selch grabbed the bottle and sliced the top off with a mere hand wave, wasting just a bit of liquor as he carefully poured into his glass. The red liquid dripped out the broken tip as a [ dramatic violin melody ](https://open.spotify.com/track/6cC6h5E351deEGFd7Kh9uy?si=6S-5Y8MTSu2xczGGoZRdGQ) began to fill the room. 

At once, the whispers stopped. A jester danced onto the stage, in full-white garb and a customary mask. He bowed with wide, exaggerated movements, glancing vaguely in his direction to acknowledge his presence.

Emet-Selch brought the glass of wine to his lips and his mood only soured further. Finest grapes, they said.

Another farce.

He tried to remind himself why he was here in the first place. 

Now, now, little cat, how shall you purr?

* * *

Astrid couldn’t know for sure where his patron was. He knew of the private booths in the right wing of the theatre, but the lights were dim and it was difficult to catch anyone’s eyes in the audience, let alone above him. Still, he knew he was somewhere watching. The thought made his blood run hot with a mix of uncontrollable anxiety and excitement. His heart was in his throat. He wanted to throw up.

He greeted the audience with a dance as the music began. He spun his words and painted the stage in colors of a distant fantasy. He would drag them all into the abyss if he needed to. Whatever it took to make his point.

Astrid grinned under the mask.

The lights shut off for a moment, allowing him to disappear into the shadows. When the light returned, it was red, illuminating the figure of a woman standing still in the middle of the stage. 

He set the scene, describing a world of vice of revelries. A magnificent society where magnificent people held magnificent parties. They clad themselves in extravagant clothes, adorned with paraphernalia poking in every direction and masked their faces to hide behind a curtain of secrecy.

They would drink to their heart’s content and dance as if the sun would never rise.

And that was because it never did.

Astrid walked around the stage, masked in the darkness as the woman looked on with horror, her features highlighted under the blood red light.

“It would do you well to fit in, love.”

“I can’t!” She screamed. “It’s all too much. How do they do it? How do they drown in their pleasures every night without rest? Do they not tire of the facade? Do they not realize it's meaningless?”

She crumpled to the floor and sobbed.

The red spotlight shut off, illuminating Astrid once more. He laughed and pointed at where the woman once was.

Astrid played his role as the jester well, laughing and jeering at the woman’s plight as she tried desperately to make a place for herself in a world she hated. 

The woman did everything she could. She dressed herself in the finest silks, earned time with society’s most-sought after escorts. She climbed the ranks, bought the finest wine, made friends with the people who mattered and destroyed whoever stood in her way. She learned to speak with a tongue made of snakes. And every night her heart darkened.

Watch how she suffers. How she falls prey to the very vices she condemned not so long ago. 

Isn’t it silly? 

“Had enough, have you? It’s too late to go back now, love.”

The jester sat next to her, twisting her long dark hair around his fingers as she cried. Her dress sprawled around her, tattered.

The smell of regret stained, long strips of ebony shooting out in nasty tentacles all around her.

“You think regret absolves you? You think you’ll be forgiven?”

The woman stood up slowly and started walking towards the front of the stages as the darkness consumed her. 

“No.”

Her voice was thick with venom.

The final scene began in a crowded ballroom after another night of debauchery. A loud drum swept everything up as people screamed and the woman came flying in. Her sobs had turned into vicious laughter. 

She trashed about, destroying everything, condemning everything. 

“And when her rampage ended, the woman looked up to the horizon, finding the sun had finally started to rise.”

* * *

[ “So, did I live up to your expectations?” ](https://open.spotify.com/track/1QvaFMZIhqwt2IssN71xdl?si=GvAGg6bJTkCIYR5n9pAcTA)

He was so pleased with himself. 

Everything about Astrid’s smile made Emet-Selch retch. The anger he felt was steam in a boiler room. A low whistle, gentle to the skin, but hot to the touch. The way his ears folded against his head and his tail wagged in vague expectation, betraying the confidence on his lips with just a slice of doubt.

“What do you think?”

Emet uncrossed his legs, cocking his head slightly to the side to rest on folded fingers. He watched the miqo’te carefully, watched as his brows furrowed in thought.

“I think pleasing you would be…” Blue eyes glanced in his direction. “... a great honor and privilege.”

“Would it now?”

Astrid approached him, setting his mask down on the table nearby, next to Emet’s unfinished bottle of wine and empty glass. The miqo'te knelt down slowly and looked up at him with those piercing eyes of his. It was a gaze Emet recognized, eyes that hid fading sincerity behind a facade of half-truths. 

“Yes.”

Astrid slipped his gloves off, one by one. Slowly, gently laying them next to him before resting his palms on Emet’s thighs. He licked his lips. 

Emet reached for the miqo'te’s chin and ran his finger up his cheeks, through his hair. He did so with such uncharacteristic tenderness that it stunned Astrid for just a moment. But before he could formulate any sort of opinion, the man spoke.

“Show me, then.”

He leaned back on his seat, golden eyes staring down at him expectantly.

The miqo'te gladly acquiesced, pushing apart his robes and leaning forward to undo his slacks. Emet didn’t ask for this, but he certainly wasn’t about to refuse free service. If anything, Astrid’s forwardness was… endearing.

No. Cast that thought aside. It was dangerous.

He was fully aware of the extent to which low-rank garleans were willing to go for even a modicum of success. Perhaps the miqo'te believed his ministrations would earn him another show. Perhaps this was merely a fun diversion. Either way, he doubted Astrid’s actions were derived from any sort of real affection towards him. 

Not that he wanted the affection anyway.

“Wow…” Astrid’s voice was breathy, practically cackling as he leaned towards Emet’s now-exposed manhood.

Emet felt the miqo'te’s hot breath on his length as he adjusted himself into a more comfortable position. Astrid licked tentatively at first, wrapping his lips around the soft base while one hand reached to cup his balls. Deft fingers worked him gently, proddingly, while his tongue worked his shaft. It wasn’t long before Emet hardened. 

Astrid smirked as it happened. He glanced up as he shifted so he could swallow Emet’s dick whole. The cocky glint in the miqo'te’s eyes was aggravating. Why did he look so proud of himself? 

“That confident, are you?” Emet sneered.

Astrid tried to let out a muffled reply, but Emet didn’t let him. He quickly grabbed the miqo'te’s hair and forced him to look back down. The belligerence didn’t faze him, another minor detail that was lowkey annoying. He liked it rough, then? Fine. He kept his hand on Astrid’s head as he sucked. He bobbed his head to a melody neither of them could hear. His tongue working swirls around his length. 

Astrid groaned, his exhales getting heavier every time Emet forced his lips back to work. He didn’t complain, even laughing between breaths. When Emet looked down, he found him pleasuring himself with one hand, stroking up and down with desperation as his head bobbed up and down his dick with the same rhythm.

Emet watched Astrid’s tail struggle to figure out what to do with itself. It had unwrapped itself around his own thigh, stiffening and curling as its owner worked. Out of curiosity, Emet reached towards it, running it gently between two fingers towards him. The reaction from Astrid was instantaneous. He almost choked. His whole body curled towards Emet as his mouth finally let go of Emet. 

The miqo'te looked up at him, eyes clouded with want, masking the usual cockiness that sat there. His mouth wide open, dripping with precum and saliva as he struggled to catch his breath. 

Emet gripped Astrid’s tail tightly, causing him to wince. His gaze was lost, unable to process anything but the waves of pleasure that was slowly dissipating away from him against his will. He still had one hand wrapped firmly around his own cock, trying to keep himself sane since he no longer had a dick to play with in his mouth. 

“Take your pants off and come up here.”

Emet’s voice was more unsteady than he intended it to be. He didn’t want to admit it, but Astrid’s work was effective.

Through the haze, Astrid seemed to notice the lust in his voice despite his attempts to hide how bothered he actually was. He obeyed his patron without protest, slipping his pants off and climbing onto Emet’s lap.

Astrid leaned back into Emet’s embrace as his patron brought one hand to the front to stroke his throbbing dick while the other reached up under his shirt to play with his chest. The miqo'te shuddered, pressing his back against Emet and biting his lip to stop himself from screaming.

“What? Afraid of hearing yourself?” Emet laughed, finally feeling like he’d gained the upper hand. “This is a rather large room we’re in.”

“A-ah…” Astrid struggled to muster a reply. “Y-your hands…” 

“What about them?”

Emet continued to stroke Astrid, fingers wrapped tightly across his length, working up and down in a hopelessly slow rhythm, forcing Astrid to move pleadingly. Emet refused to quicken his pace, doing just enough to keep him on the edge of climax.

“G-gloves… please…” 

Ah, right. Emet didn’t take his gloves off. He laughed again. “And dirty my hands?”

“Hmmnh…”

Emet pressed Astrid closer still, inhaling his scent as he pressed the tip. “Is that what you want? For me to sully myself with your seed?”

Astrid groaned again, bouncing faster against Emet’s agonizingly slow ministrations.

“I say you’ve had enough victories today,” Emet exhaled and finally gave Astrid what he wanted. He loosened his grip slightly and stroked with speed and vigor. In moments, Astrid buckled against him. His breath ragged.

Emet let his body slide to the ground as he finally stood up from his seat. He walked two steps away, carefully slipping his gloves off and dropping them on Astrid’s mask which was left on the table.

“Well, that was fun.” 

He threw one more glance back at Astrid who was attempting to pick himself back up. His blue eyes clearing as he came down from the pleasure. 

“I look forward to your next performance, Astrid.”


End file.
